In the quiet town of Tuburan, Cebu, where mornings begin with soft sunlight and the calm rhythm of provincial life, one sound rises above all — the ringing of the church bell.
Long before digital alarms and smartphone alerts, this was Tuburan’s original notification system. And for the past 40 years, the man behind that sound has been Isabelo “Beloy” Pepito.
Now 66, Beloy has spent most of his life serving as the church’s bell ringer. He began at just 14, inspired by the late Fr. Elisio Gamallo. What started as a simple act of volunteerism became a lifelong mission — to remind people not just of the time, but of faith, community and reflection.
Beloy learned his craft by observing another bell ringer, Daniel Omnus. There were no instructions — only listening and watching. In time, he mastered the art of sending messages through each ring: a joyful tone for mass, a solemn toll for funerals. Each sound became a sacred signal, calling the town to gather, to mourn, to pray.
He sets his digital watch to wake him at 3 a.m., rising before the town stirs. By 4 a.m., his first ring echoes across Tuburan, gently calling the town to life. At noon, the bell signals pause and prayer. At 4 p.m., it invites the faithful to holy mass. And by 8 p.m., it rings the day’s end — an audible reminder that it’s time to rest.
Beloy’s presence has become a fixture in Tuburan. Children grow up learning the rhythm of his bell; elders rely on it to guide their days. During town fiestas and Holy Week, the bell takes on deeper meaning — sounding joy, grief, or solemnity. Even visitors stop and listen, drawn to the mystery of the man behind the tolling.
In an era of buzzes, beeps and automated reminders, the idea of a hand-rung bell might seem outdated. Some churches now rely on recordings. But when asked about this, Beloy says with a playful grin, “Maybe they should destroy the old bell first before they can use their modern ways.” Beneath the joke is quiet defiance — and pride. No machine, he believes, can replace the meaning of a bell rung with human hands and a faithful heart.
He hasn’t trained a successor. “I will not leave unless the priests ask me to,” he says. “I will serve until I can no longer do so.” His voice is gentle, but resolute — just like his calling.
In many ways, Beloy is Tuburan’s human notification: more consistent than any device, more meaningful than any app. He reminds the town not only what time it is — but what matters: faith, tradition and service.
He is more than a bell ringer. He is a living echo of devotion, and the steady heartbeat of a town that listens — not to noise, but to purpose. Vince Ian Joseph Pepito / Contributor